mM--^' ' 




SONNETS, 



ROUNDELS, MADRIGALS, ETC., 



J. D. VINTON, M. D. 



V^ COPVf 



"C^.ncavl^ 



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MA^ 2Q 388 - 



PHILADELPHIA: 

J. D. VINTON & CO, 906 RACE STREET. 

1888. 



Copyright bt 
J. D. VINTON, M. D., 

1888. 



Sg. 



TO 

WM. F. DECKER, SB. 

IN 
FRIENDSHIP. 



SONNETS. 



A SUNSET IN THE FOREST. 

A BRIGHT spring day has flown. The warming rays 
Which all day long have played upon the fields 
Where once more Nature in her kindness wields 

Her magic wand, are passing from my gaze. 

From the outskirting trees the echoing lays 
Of evening song-birds- now the forest yields, 
And sun -lit tree-tops, like broad flashing shields, 

Wave in the breeze that with them softly plays. 

How pleasantly the distant brook lifts up 
Its voice to bid the sun a brief good by ! 
But gathering stillness round me seems to reign, 

As if tired man from some somnific cup 
Had drunk, and sleeps, while in the darkness I, 
Lost in reflection, all alone remain. 



SONNETS. 



THE SONG OF SPRING. 

I HEAK the song of Spring, a song as grand 
As any heard the dreaming sea beside, 
When its incoming, restless, ceaseless tide. 

With rythmic swell, o'erflows the shifting sand 

Of outline shores. See Spring sweep o'er the land 
In every breeze that stirs, in clouds that ride 
The heavens' unwonted blue, in show'rs that stride 

The broad earth o'er, moved by some giant hand ! 

I hear her voice— at least, methinks I hear — 
Attune with Pales in her shepherd song; 

With Flora in her flowery lays; with clear. 
Sweet voiced Feronia of the woody dell ; 
With grand Pomona, last of all the throng 
To welcome Spring, queen without parallel ! 



S0NWET8. 



MAN. 

Noblest of all Creation's works, O man! 

Thee I behold in tenement of clay 

Dwelling not long in a mysterious way, 
Fulfilling, by thy presence, the great plan 
Of planned existence, which at first began 

In broad infinity, that one bright ray 

Of Light Eternal should in Time convey 
Conceptions grand of its immortal van. 
Thou hast not size nor shape to mortal eye, 

For what is seen is not the man. 'Tis true, 
A beauteous thing appears; but it must die. 

Another something, hid away from view, 
Encased within that beauteous form doth lie — 

That ray of Light Eternal gleaming through. 



10 SONNETS. 



FIDIE. 
I. 

Spring came with balmy breath. A tender blade 
From earth upsprung, and leisurely unrolled 
Its leaves and buds inwrought with threads of gold, 

For breezes soft and vernal show'rs conveyed 

A vigor to its roats, and sunlight played 

With magic charms upon the light gray mold 
Wherein those roots were bedded. Winter's cold. 

Bleak winds were past. It blossomed, and arrayed 

In royal beauty, how it charmed the eye 
That gazed upon it! O enchanting sight! 

The dew-drops with the sun-beams aye did vie 
To kiss its blushing leaves and breathe its light 

Perfume. But soon 'twas gone ! It did not die, 
But was transplanted, fragrant, blooming, bright? 



SONNETS. U 



11. 
Thus FiDiE came— the fairest bloom of Spring! 

And, (lay by day, just like the blushing flower, 

Her beauties did unfold, as sun and shower 
Awoke a sinilini>- grace in every thing. 
Ereloni;, we heard her childish accents ring, 

And all the household felt her magic power. 

How fairy-like she grew ! How every hour, 
E'en up to womanhood, new graces seemed to bring! — 
So FiDiE went! Just as the plant so frail 

Was sadly missed, as dawned one fated day 
So she herself was missed. No whispering gale 

Lisped where she went; but she had passed away. 
The Master saw how she would fade— grow pale, 

And so removed her from her house of clay. 



12 SONNETS. 



MY FIFTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY. 

Scarce can I realize how fleet my days 
Are passing! Lost in what concerns me now. 
The rush of pressing cares no thoughts allow 

For making note of time; but in a maze 

Of strange bewilderment, blindly I gaze 
On panoramic life, not knowing how 
Its storms and chills will end, nor if I bow 

Or stand as they pass by. Yet round me plays 

A vision new. It checks my hurried flight. 
Stations and mile-stones many have I passed, 

But now one numbered Fifty-five I sight. 
Ah, me ! The deep'ning shadows round me cast 

Foretell a setting sun, a coming night, — 
That I shall find a resting place at last. 



SONNETS. IS 



AN EARTHQUAKE. 

A SUMMER night in painful stillness reigns; 

Earth, like her wearied cliildren, seeks repose; 

Murmurs and strifes surcease as darkness grows, 
And breathless silence broods o'er hills and plains. 
The moon and stars, like vivid, blood-red stains 

On Nature's duskj' curtains which enclose 

The sleeping world, seem smould'ring in a doze, 
As if un ware of Nature's bosom pains. 
Now horrid thunders, through Niagara doors. 

From mountain tops to plains convulsive leap I 
Now battles rage, and parked artillery roars 

Rock cities, hills and seas, as, waked from sleep 
'Neath Etna, Typhon shakes Sicilian shores! 

Lo! frighted men mid death and ruin weep! 



14 SONNETS. 



SILENCE. 
I. 

Where shall I go for Silence? When earth's care 
In fetters strong my panting soul hath bound, 
How oft I long to dwell where comes no sound I 

Midway in heavenly space — is Silence there?— 

No hum of worlds? No sound of stirring air? 
Down in the caves and mines beneath the ground 
We tread, or in deep sea, is Silence found? 

Can arid desert, or broad prairie fair, 

Her dwelling be? Oh, whither can I fly? 
It might be sweet could I with Silence stay: 

But 'neath the caves and mines the earthquakes lie; 
On deserts and on prairies storm-fiends play ; 

For realms in space my soul must vainly sigh. 
And thus my hopes like fog-mists pass away. 



SONNETS. 15 



II. 

O Silence! would I wish with thee to dwell? 

Could e'er my soul, accustomed to turmoil, 

To mortal sights and sounds, at sounds recoil 
And leave them all? No sound of song, or bell, 
Or friendly voice, or children's laugh? No swell 

Of wind or sea? No flock, no herd, no toil, 

No running brook, no bird, no storm, to foil 
The mighty power of thy incanting spell? 
O Silence! Now melhinks the opening rose, 

The springing grass, the bursting seed, the leaves 
That clothe the tree, the softest dew that glows 

In morning beams, have each a voice that grieves 
At thy approach; yet from them sweetly flows 

"A still small voice" which to my spirit cleaves. 



16 SONNETS. 



LIBERTY. 

Nations of all the earth and in all time 

Thy loftiest praise have sung, and sought to gam 

Immortal honors, or, at least, attain 
Historic record, in the song sublime. 
Though oft the effort has been but a mime, — 

A form of words unwrought, a show profane 

For what is not, yet, strong as is the hurricane, 
Thy strength has been in every age and clime. 
O Liberty! still stronger dost thou grow 

When Right with Wrong in combat meets,and win 
Still higher laurels in Wrong's overthrow. 

Be it Oppression and its every kin, 
Or Ignorance upheaved from long ago, 

For Glory beams where'er thy step hath been. 



SONNETS. 17 



SLEEP. 
I. 

Mysterious something— spirit, shade or what? — 
Unwinged or winged, thou art on message sent 
From some unseen retreat; in kindness meant 

To calm the minds of fretting mortals, not 

Forgetting tend'rest youth, nor yet the lot 
Of hoary age, nor that where Pain hath bent 
Its smartest bow, and, with sharp arrows, rent 

Some bleeding heart by Hope almost forgot. 

Yes, m3'stery tliou art, mysterious Sleep! — 
The fairest angel wearied man can woo. 

While seeking rest, to soothe his throbbing brow, 
For, faithful, thou dost faithful vigil keep; 

Yet, slumb'ring, he may dream, but ne'er see who, 
With gentle hand, such sweetness doth bestow. 



18 SOJVWETS, 



11. 

Delightful Sleep! Thou gentle, welcome guest! 

Wlien round my couch no rush of earthly care. 

Nor sound discordant, fills the midnight air; 
When to thine arms, unseen, I glide for rest. 
With no strong passions rankling in my breast; 

When to the fairy dream-land thou dost bear 

My lightsome spirit and play with it there; 
Or when Forgetfulness has thought suppressed: — 
'Tis then, O Imitation Death! I owe 

To thee the fullness of my grateful heart, 
That, for a time, thine intluence thus can still 

Confused reflections, which so wildly grow, 
While life's impassioned scenes in rudeness start, 

Unchecked — save by thine own all-conquering will. 



SONNETS. 19 



III. 

Sleep! What shall I call you? Tell me, pray! 
For such a crazy thing at times you are, 

That no one knows what form you next will bear. 
With quiet mind I to my bed away, 
But find, erelong, you lead so far astray, 
That I from scaffolds fall, or fly in air, 
Or drown, or struggle with some cold night-mare, 
Or in ten thousand other antics play. 

1 toss and roll from side to side in bed; 

I hide beneath the sheets to shun your eye; 
But, demon like, through quilts and sheets you fly, 
Right for my stomach and my aching head. 
O, crazy Sleep! If capers you must cut. 
Pray cut such capers in some other hut! 



30 SONNETK 



IV. 

O Somnus! Thoa of Erebus the son, 

And Death's own brother, whom no eye can ken, 

Art called the happy kini,^ of ^ods and men! 
Dost thou in caves Cimmerian dwell, to shun 
The cries of mortals as they sink, outdone 

By cares distracting, in some pathless fen? 

Is thine ear soothed by murmurs soft, as when 
A brook o'er pebbles creeps with lau^h and fun? 
Ah! drowsy god, on ebon, dark-plumed bed 

Reclined ! Wiiile soothing poppies crowd thy door, 
And play fantastic visions round thy head. 

Let Morpheus come and dreaming incense pour 
On me, that I, though 'neath thy mother's shade. 
May know her son with Rest my bed hath made. 



SONNETS. 21 



V. 

I'm weary, and with study almost mad, 
Inditing sonnets to thy honest praise, 
O Sleep ! for worthless fall my proudest lays. 

Iambics into trochees run, and sad 

Hexametei', in trailing habits clad. 
Into pentameter's dominion strays. 
The chain of sense so wildly with me plays ; 

Its links so disconnected, and my grammar bad, 

That I'm distracted! It is midnight past! 
The southejn breezes fan my feverish brow, 

Yet jingling rhymes and words discordant, cast 
Such wild emotions o'er my mind, that now, 

O Sleep ! thou must remove the load upon it, 

Or else forego the pleasures of a sonnet. 



22 SONNETS. 



A THUNDER-STORM. 
I. 
Deep, heavy clouds come rolling up the west. 

Loud roar the angry winds as onward stride 

The battling hosts of heav'n, which, spreading wide, 
For conquest press. Like ocean in unrest, 
The surging crowd throws from its heaving breast 

The while-caps of its anger. Daring glide 

The serried ranks where blackest night-shades ride 
Like mounted horsemen scaling Nature's crest. 
Armies of old! How shields and bucklers flash! 

How horridly the myriad sabers gleam! 
How on the ear death-dealing steel-blades clash! 

How from those heav'nly battle-fields down stream 
The patriot floods, as pond'rous chariots crash !— 

Ah, Homer! where is now thy Trojan dream? 



SONNETS. 23 



11. 

How sultry! 'Tis the wane of noou. The sun 
Is trending for the western hills. A roar, 
Like harvest wheels across a threshing-floor, 

From distant regions comes. Veiled like a nun, 

A cloud, in mystic robe and color dun, 

Rolls up the sky. Now, stretching like the shore 
Of mighty ocean ; — darkly surging o'er 

The heav'ns, as conqu'ring legions overrun 

The mountain crags, that wizard cloud upheaves, 
With glitt'ring swords and bayonets ablaze, 

With wheels still rumbling 'neath autumnal sheaves 
Of cannon — flashing, roaring, in a daze 

Of warlike glory, till my eye perceives, 
Amid spent clouds, the flag of truce upraise. 



34 SONNETS. 



EVENING TWILIGHT. 

In royal state, into his chamber goes 

The mighty god of day, attended by 

His blushing queen, the idol of the sky. 
Whose golden trail a dazzling radiance throws 
O'er all the sunset land, ere night-shades close 

The earth in darkness. Clouds that hang on high, 

Like gauzy veils where sparkling diamonds lie, 
At least a ten-fold brightness add to those 
That thickly stud queen Twilight's starry train. 

Transfixed, her rustling robes I seem to hear, 
As, with her consort, through the golden gate 

I see her pass. But, while my sight I strain 
To catch her parting glance, a dewy tear 

She drops, and bids me for Aurora wait. 



SONNETS. 35 



VALOR. 

I SING thy praise, O Valor! as a part 
Of man's inheritance, in life bestowed 
By liighest Wisdom. On a dangerous road 

He needs must travel, where the stoutest heart 

Migiit yield to fear when vagrant ills upstart. 
Highwayman like; but thou his weightiest load 
Canst lighten, though his restless thoughts forebode 

But sure destruction, heedless that thou art. 

If thus frail man must war, be thou his guide; 
In darkest hours his swooning courage wake; 

Alway be thou a Mentor by his side; 
A thorny road, with foes beset, may make 

Him falter, but, O Valor, let him bide 

In thee, and Honor '11 crown him for thy sake. 



36 SONNETS. 



NATURE. 

A MIGHTY power the heavens and earth proclaim: 
Where'er I gaze its wonder-working laws, 
Incomprehensible, the first great cause 

Of all things, set my very soul aflame. 

In earth, in air, in space, appears the same 

O'erwhelming thought, and in its grandeur draws 
My wandering mind to make a sudden pause 

And ask itself from whence its being came. 

Essence Divine! enthroned by wondering man. 
Supreme and infinite, whose magic nod 

Can sway the universe and all its clan 
Of worlds— be they of fire or mist or clod,— 

Who never canst grow old — who ne'er began, 
Thee, some as Nature praise — I praise thee, God ! 



SONNETS. 27 



INDIAN SUMMER. 

What lovely daj's, like golden sands, between 
A summer's heat and winter's cold, are strown 
By Nature's hand benign ! Though birds are flown, 

Still, here and there, a lingering few are seen. 

The frost-nipt grass hath scarce a blade of green ; 
The forest trees their leafy coats have thrown 
Aside, and unprotected stand and moan 

As in the North the winter wunds convene. 

Now see once more the spring-like sunbeams come, 
A few short days to spend and smile farewell 

To parting Summer; and, with half-made hum, 
See straggling bees round sentless flower-beds dwell, 

And forth crawl insects few ; but soon how grum 
Will winter storms sound Indian Summer's knell. 



28 SONNEW. 



HONOR. 

When crushed are hopes long treasured by the soul 
With ceaseless care, flushed with expectant good 
In friendship, wealth and health, or aught that should 

O'er coming life in cheerfulness unroll; 

Or, when despair bids phantom night-shades troll 
About us, which, with mental anguish, would 
O'erwhelm a staggeiing brain, if by it stood 

No friendly guard its sorrows to condole: 

'T is Honor lifts the man a man to be. 
To keep the path of rectitude, although 

His brother man for wealth deceives, and he. 
The sport of friend pretending yet a foe. 

Goes forth with trembling faith till faith can see 
That Honor's shield resists the fellest blow. 



jsonnets. 



THE WAYSIDE SPRING. 

Near midway of a long and tiresome hill, 
Where tall trees lift their heads and shadows cast 
Across the streets in undulations vast, 

There, from the wayside rocks, a trickling rill 

Comes dancing forth, and onward flows, until 
Its sparkling drops the wooden spout have passed, 
Through fickle sunlight glimmering to the last, 

As slow, but sure, the mossy trough they fill. 

How oft, beside that fount when burning heat 
Of summer solstice parched my fevered lip, 

Have I reclined; and there, on braky brink, 
With pebbly carpet white beneath my feet — 

Head bent the fount above, with eager sip, 
A nectar drank the gods would stoop to drink. 



30 SONNETS. 



MORNING. 
I. 
All hail to thee, fair Morn! The eastern skies 

Are lieralding thy coming, and with rays 

Of gold are fringing mountain tops, and bays, 
And brooks, and meadows. Night in swiftness flies. 
Aghast at thy bright presence. Song replies 

To song from dewy tree and bush, where plays 

The fragrant breeze and merry bird, and lays 
From silver rills in soothing cadence rise. 
The tears, Night on her path has shed, transformed 

To mists etherial, heavenward soar, in vain 
Attempt the rising sun to hide; the gleams 

Of day increase; the quiet bee-hive, warmed, 
Resumes its hum ; and, restless on his bed of pain, 

The sick man gladly hails thy rising beams. 



SONNETS. 31 



II. 

As forth I walk at morning's early hour, 

What incense, to my soul, comes pouring in! 

On every hand, what charming sights begin 
With the first breath of day ! From grass and flower, 
From bush and tree, refreshed by dew and shower, 

What beauty springs ! Where could my spirit win 

A holier charm, ere in the constant din 
Of daily life it needs must show its power? 
The cattle on the meads; the w^orm that crawls 

Upon the soil; the birds in bush or tree; 
The fly that hails the sun; the cock that calls 

A world from sleep; the tireless, busy bee; 
The blushing rose from hedge or garden walls — 

O Morn ! all these are charms I find in thee ! 



80NNETIS. 



FRIENDSHIP. 

The soul of man was nevej- formed to dwell 

Recluse, communing only with its own 

Unsatisfying records, for a tone 
Of human sympathj' its joys can swell. 
When wearying life presents its sickening spell 

Of sadness, and the spirit doth but moan 

In solitude, how soon is overblown 
The cloud when Friendship strikes her silver bell. 
Our deep-felt longings for a friendly voice, 

Well up resistless from the soundless soul ; 
Nor are they feigned, nor do they come from choice, 

But spring by natural birth, deigned to control 
The minds of brother men while they rejoice 

And in strong bands of brotherhood enroll. 



80NJVETS. 33 



I. THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 

Darkness of night has settled o'er the plain, 
And scarce distinguishable are the hills 
That rise against the distant sky, and chills, 

From heavy night-air, full dominion gain. 

The watchful shepherds careful guard maintain 
O'er sleeping flocks, as, from the limpid rills. 
Soft, gurgling Murmur sings her soothing trills, 

For Peace in Judah's realm has come to reign. 

Lo! what new light from starrj'^heav'ns down-flows! 
What midnight songs by startled ears are heard 

Amid that light which still in brightness grows ! 
Prostrate the shepherds fall; but flocks unstirred 

Sleep on, nor heed how beams that one bright gem, 

Star of the East, the Star of Bethlehem. 



34 SONNETS. 



II. THE SONG THAT WAS SUNG. 

Upon the ground the prostrate shepherds lay. 

Night- mantled skies with light were beaming still 

Where heav'n had oped for seraph choirs to thrill 
Those shepherds' ears with wonder ; and as they 
Bent listening, songs celestial seemed to say: 

"Glory to God on high! To men good will, 

And peace on earth, for highest joy shall fill 
All people, for to you is born this day. 
In David's city, Christ the Lord! " The song. 

As parting seraphs filled that heav'n-lit space, 
Seemed fainter, fainter growing, and the throng 

With brightness dazed no more the lifted face; 
But though night's darkness held its fetters strong, 

That one bright Star still marked the sacred place. 



SONNETS. 35 



III. THE HEAVENLY GUIDE. 

No longer prostrate lay the shepherds where 
They heard the glorious song that had been sung. 
Their fears were quelled, and in their minds upsprung 

Communings as to how they should repair 

To David's city, and while seeking there, 
Mid royal foes by keenest malice stung, 
Could find the place where had been born the young 

Celestial visitant, king David's heir. 

But midnight darkness reigned the camp around; 
The flocks their care would need ere their return; 

The way was drear and o'er uncertain ground; 
Yet they must go; and as they go they learn 

By that bright Star just where the child is found. 
O heav'n-sent Star! thy beams we still discern! 



36 SONNETS. 



IV. THE INFANT SAVIOUR FOUND. 

The shepherds prostrate lie, but not with fear. 
And at an infant Saviour's feet, while flow 
Their adorations, precious gifts bestow, 

Of gold, frankincense, myrrh— offerings sincere. 

In Oriental customs, which endear 
In friendship friend to friend. Their weary road. 
The traveling star, their flocks, their far abode, 

In their exceeding joy, no more appear. 

Oh, wondrous sight! What do their eyes behold? 
Though meanly domiciled where foes abound ; 

Devoid of comforts as by prophets told ; 

No shouting crowd his praise supreme to sound; 

Yet in that manger swaddling clothes enfold 
A Mighty One the shepherd eyes have found. 



SONNETS. 87 



V. THE KING TRIUMPHANT. 

Now wake the glories of king David's throne, 

And the magnificence of Solomon, 

A mighty king, king David's royal son, 
The grandest, aye, the world hath ever known. 
Hence cometh song! Not shepherd ears alone 

To wondrous harmonies, in lieav'n begun, 

Are listening now, for down the ages run 
These strains melodious all the world may own : 
"Lift up your heads ye everlasting gates, — 

Ye doors, and let the King of glory in ! " 
"Who is this King of glory? Who thus waits 

Without? His nation what, his tribe, his kin?" 
"The Lord of hosts! The Lord who worlds creates, 

From earth triumphant, now will enter in ! " 



SONNETS. 



DEATH. 

O Death! Indeed, a mystery thou art! 

I hear thy step without, while I'm encased 

Within this shell whereon thy hand has traced 
A target point, on its most vital part. 
Oft have I seen go by thy trustful dart; — 

I've seen within thy cheerless arms embraced 

The loveliest forms by highest virtues graced, 
And, too, the vilest at thy presence start. 
Ah! how thy step seems ever drawing near, 

As fast my days are numbered in the past! 
The cords that bind me often do I hear 

Thy hand undoing, and thy shadow cast 
Before, will make thy presence soon appear, 

And in thine arms I, too, be found at last. 



SONNETS. 



THE OCEAN SHORE. 

I'm standing on a stretch of ocean shore, 
And view the billows rolling to and fro, 
The rushing tide's unceasing ebb and flow. 

The mighty breakers, that, with hideous roar, 

Dash on the rocky beach and thunder o'er 

The drifting sands that shift like winter snow, — 
The cheating gems that back the sunbeams throw, 

And glint afar on ocean's diamond floor. 

Such seems this life to me ! — an ocean wide 
With but a narrow shore, yet stretching far. 

Where I can gaze on billows and on tide 
Which threatening swell, or feel the breakers jar 

My trembling bark in passing them 'long side, 
While Error clouds th' unchanging Polar star. 



40 SONNETS, 



TO THE EAGLE. 

Thou kinp^ of birds, and pride of mountain peak. 
No danger fearing in thy dauntless flight 
O'er ocean deep, or from tlie loftiest height; 
Welcomed by grandest armies — Roman, Greek, 
Or Macedonian— perching where the shriek 
Of war-fiends hideous makes the bloody fight— 
Thy name doth stir my lieart, since, in her might, 
My country dares to say that thou shalt speak 
For Liberty! Hail to thee, noble bird! 

Where waves her flag of blazing stars and stripes 
Throughout the world, thy mighty voice is heard 

Proclaiming Freetlom to all races, types. 
And states of men; and honored thus, ah! woe 
To him who strives for Freedom's overthrow ! 



SONNETS. 41 



SPRING. 

From southern climes the length'ning day is bringing 
A balmy air, and Nature deftly dresses 
That she may sport, till Summer's hand caresses 

The fields rejuvenized. Now, upward springing, 

The grass and flowers appear; and, sweetly singing 
In blooming trees where Beauty shakes her tresses, 
The flitting birds seek sheltering recesses, 

Where they their nests may hang in zephyrs swinging. 

The ice and snow insensibly have parted 
From crystal haunts, for youthful Spring, reviving, 

Comes tripping forth, and, on her new course started — 
While from her presence frowning Winter driving — 

Her richest treasures scatters, open-hearted. 
Till fruitful earth with every good is thriving. 



SONNETS. 



SUMMER. 

No Ioniser in her frozen bosom's keeping 
Doth Nature hold her treasures; but o'erflowing 
With new-born vigor, and warm life upgrowing, 

The wakened plants forget their winter sleeping. 

The living sunbeams from Sol's chariot leaping, 
As up the sky its brazen wheels are glowing. 
Have fructified the grain of spring-time sowing, 

And promised harvests for the autumn reaping. 

It now is Summer. Lo ! what beauty passes 
As days go fleeting by ! and while thus fleeting. 

How rapidly Time shifts his endless classes 

Of scenes earth-born, and them each year repeating. 

Brings varying fruits and flowers and leaves and 
grasses, 
And thus is man to noble deeds entreating. 



SONNETS. 43 



AUTUMN. 

How mild the sun ! How soft the moonbeams falling ! 
Among the yellow leaves in forests dropping, 
The autumn birds to merry songs are hopping, 
And to their mates premonitory calling. 
The insects, seen at mid-day slowly crawling. 
Are warming in the sun, but not long stopping, 
Retire; and the last lingering flower outcropping, 
The sunny hedge is gracefully installing. 
Now, far and near, the shocks of corn are standing 
In sheltered valleys and on hillsides, waiting 

Awhile their golden ears grow still more golden: 
And, too, the trees, with blushing fruits expanding, 
Forecast the thoughts to scenes most animating. 
When winter eveninsjs come with customs olden. 



44 SOJVJVETS. 



WINTER. 

Down mountain sides and up through valleys sighing, 
The winds are moving now, and low is sinking 
The sun to southern spheres, and, coldly blinking, 

The stars look down on Nature prostrate lying. 

The rifted clouds across the sky are flying; 
The laughing waters, from the frost-bite shrinking. 
Have drawn their glassy shutters, as if thinking 

To shut out thus the scene of Nature dying. 

But Winter has her time to reign. Commotion 
Assumes its active part; and now its fretting 

And painful din serves Winter's angry notion, 
And through the air down on the earth is letting 

The snow-clouds fall, like an o'erwhelming ocean. 
While raging storms are Time's behest abetting. 



SONNETS. 45 



A SNOW-STORM. 

The frosty wind has from its ice-caves come, 

And the broad land is shrinking at its breath, 
Nor listens aught to hear its music grum 

In nooks and corners— requiems of death. 
A leaden sky has canopied the earth 

All through the morning hours, and but faint light 
The day now sheds upon the seeming dearth 

Of active life, as if itself were night. 
Ere mid-day, from that strange o'erhanging cloud, 

So dense, so black, the light- winged, feathery flakes 
The frozen, lifeless, somber earth enshroud 

For dreamless sleep ; and in its wrath awakes 
The howling wind its own death-song to sing, 
Ere Winter flies as swells the voice of Spring. 



46 SONNETS. 



H. W. LONGFELLOW. 

When in the fields alone, at summer eve, 
I wander where the whispering groves and rills 
Are mingling sweetest music, and the trills 

Of evening song-birds swell as day-beams leave; 

When near the sea I stand where gently heave 
The foam-tipt waters, where my spirit fills 
With inspiration and with grandeur thrills 

At its pulsations which my thoughts inweave: — 

I feel thy words, O Poet ! ever breathe 
A music sweet as any heard in field 

Or brook or sea; and what thou didst bequeath 
To man, immortal must remain, unsealed 

By pedant strains — a bright poetic wreath 
For all who glean the fruits thy labors yield. 



SONNETS. 47 



TO MILTON. 

There is a beauty in a twinkling star 

En jeweling a clear autumnal sky; 

A pleasantness in meteors when they fly 
Like glowing sparks from reckless Phaeton's car; 
A loveliness in Luna, who, from far. 

With gentle radiance greets the wakeful eye; 

A soothing mildness in the golden dye 
Of twilight skies no shadows ever mar: — 
But thou, O Milton! like the brighter sun, 

Outshining all with thy majestic light 
Of towering reason, art surpassed by none 

Who e'er in human thought attempted flight; 
And, as in reach thy skill has thus outdone 

All others, thou hast gained a monarch's right. 



48 SONNETS. 



SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY. 

I. 

I WOULD not scorn opinion, nor would I 
My brother's right to thought in value make 
Inferior to my own, nor for his sake 

Yield him my rights himself to gratify. 

Man has not yet proved what we deify — 
A man perfection — for the oft mistake 
His grandest theories so oft doth shake. 

That wisest sages seem but born to lie. 

The more they speculative regions tread — 

Those fields in miscalled Reason's kingdom laid- 

More deeply mired are they; for, blindly led 
By faulty predilections, and arrayed 

In crude opinions, each assumes the head 
Of Progress, though they merely retrograde. 



SONNETS. 49 



II. 

Why should my brother think my only end 
Is to assent to his dogmatic views, 
Forgetting how his eagerness eschews 

As false in me what others may commend? 

I scorn the man who never will unbend 
From self -presumed permission to abuse 
Another's right, but claims that right accrues 

To him whose might no other's can transcend. 

In all the range of thought may speculate 
The tyro or the sage; and oft may skill 

Be pained to know which best can advocate 
What others must believe of volatile 

Philosophy, though common-sense, innate. 
Is satisfied, where doubts the speculators fill. 



50 SONNETS. 



III. 
The universe, ruled by unchanging law. 

Seems harmony itself. But harmony 

With man's emotions can no partner be, 
Since fickle man cannot his self withdraw. 
He is his own best friend — self without flaw — 

And though he cannot read himself, yet he 

Would Nature read and all her course foresee — 
As wise a sage as Science ever saw. 
Though Science may be true, he, scientist, 

May err. The language which true Science speaks 
He oft misunderstands, although insist 

Experts that they her book have read; yet peaks 
Of mountain doubts uplift in seas of mist, 

Where darkness still prevails, misnomered,/rertA;«. 



SONNETS. 51 



IV. 

Some things there are we know; of some we guess 
The meaning, reasoning if we may persuade 
Our conscious spirits that an ambuscade 

Some foe has planned, while we are weaponless. 

We wot not if to tight or acquiesce. 

Still, darkest mysteries we would invade 
With books of guesses, and with wrath upbraid 

The unbeliever at his emptiness. 

Just here we oft misstep; for, though we turn 
Our reason's brightest ray upon some dark 

Just apprehended point, and think to learn 
Its perfect nature by the simple spark 

Of mental vision, yet, though pained, discern, 
Like many a sage, that we've not touched the mark. 



52 SONNETS. 



V. 

What am I that, with such a misruled gift 
As Reason, I should with complacent will 
Assume that I've explored some mystic rill 

Which long hath sent my fellow men adrift? 

It may be Science, whose grand shapes uplift, 
Whereat a world may doubt, nor find the skill 
To pierce the veil that holds them mysteries still, 

In which may lie the matter I would sift. 

Here, Reason tells me I may know a thing 
*' To be, or not to be;" yet, what I claim 

As reason, may from others only bring 
A sneer at my mistake; and thus we blame 

Each other, reasonless: but though I cling, 
Or they, to error, truth remains the same. 



SONNETS. 



ON THE DEATH OF J. G. SAXE. 

Hushed be the sounds of gayety and mirth ! 

Let sorrow's tears once more in silence flow, 

For now our bleeding hearts are pained to know 
That one more voice no more will sing on earth. 
Though in the field of song there be no dearth 

Of merry hearts, yet him so long aglow — 

Now gone for aye— no other can outgrow, 
Though in that mind no longer song hath birth. 
Alas ! he now has joined that unseen train 

We, too, must join, though death awhile delay; 
But echoes of his voice will entertain 

Our earth-bound souls with pleasing wit, and play 
For our good cheer, till death the mastery gain. 

And us to realms of sweeter song convey. 



54 SONNETS. 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 

Some men there are who, when they die, are dead 
To all the world, lost to the human eye 
That saw them enter life, or saw them die, — 

To hands that laid them in their narrow bed. 

Though winds may sweetly sing or howl with dread 
Their graves above; storms sweep with fury by, 
Or sighing groves man's worship magnify. 

Yet moody silence doth their names o'erspread. 

But how the winds and woods and storms proclaim 
Thy glory, sainted Poet! yea, how brooks 

And birds and stretching prairies— all thy name 
Revive when we behold them in thy books 

As counterparts of Nature flushed with youth. 

Alike in beauty, grandeur, life and truth. 



SONNETS. 55 



CONTENTMENT. 

Why should I not be satisfied with what 

Kind Providence, so clothed in mystery 
To my dim eyes, vouchsafes to be my lot? 

Or why dare think that I can better see? 
Those lovely flowers and glossy berries seem 

To hold the very essence of delight, 
Awhile I view them, and still fonder dream; 

But ah ! those beauties only death invite ! 
I can not see the subtle poison run 

Through those small veins that thickly permeate 
That slender stalk; yet saith a friend, "No one 

Partakes but death will be his certain fate." 
So let me then be satisfied with what 
Kind Providence vouchsafes to be my lot. 



56 SOJSINETS. 



DR. J. L. BROTHERTON. 

Friend of tli'oppressed, and foe of all oppression! 

Thy warfare ended, thou art laid to rest 

Wrapt in thy mantle blessed Peace hath blest ! 
From thy broad stand we humbly make confession 
That we but feebly mark that grand succession 

Of brotherhood thy deeds made manifest, 

Which knew no North, no South, no East, no West, 
No truce with Wrong, no shielding for transgression. 
Rest thou in peace! Though still thy genial heart 

Be with us, beating with a charmed affection; 
Though still thy words their wonted cheer impart 

To downcast souls that need some kind protection; 
Yet, rest in peace! And though unseen thou art, 

Of thee, unchanged, shall be sweet recollection. 



ROUNDELS. 



A FRIEND. 

A friend is not at all times found * 

When most we need one to extend 
A sympathy that should surround 
A friend. 

Unblushing arrogance may lend 

A heartless and unmeaning sound 
For friendship, we misapprehend; 

Yet, when we tread uncertain ground, 

Bearing a load 'neath which we bend, 
Then true friends' hands will never wound 
A friend. 



60 • ROUNDELS. 



THE WELCOME RAIN. 

The welcome rain doth storm or shower 

Bestow on earth — on hill and plain; 
Aye, while abloom, awaits the flower 
The welcome rain. 

The sun may scorch the ripening grain, 

Hold all green things with tyrant power, 
Nor heed the cry of thirsting swain; 

But in a brief expectant hour, 

Hope-laden clouds up- wing again, 
And send to earth, from Sol's own tower, 
The welcome rain. 



ROUNDELS. 61 



FORMS YET UNSEEN. 
I. 
Forms yet unseen come round my bed 

In darkest hours of night, between 
My dreams, and spirits seem of dead 
Forms yet unseen. 

But while awake, night's sable screen 

I strive to pierce, till night has fled; — 
Beyond its folds no facts I glean. 

If, pressed with fear, my aching head 
Feels Nature's soft hand intervene, 

Then, day or night, I no more dread 
Forms yet unseen. 



63 ROUNDELS. 



II. 

Forms yet unseen ? Yes, swiftly fly 
Forms o'er the fields my thought would glean, 

Alttiough elude my human eye 
Forms yet unseen. 

If o'er my bed in silence lean 

Forms I believe are ever nigh, 
How can I find out what they mean? 

How long in darkness must I try 

To force, with sense and sight serene, 

That unrent veil, beyond which lie 
Forms yet unseen? 



ROUNDELS. 63 



III. 

Forms yet unseen perhaps may press 
The sick man's bed, at morn or e'en, 

To calm his fears, that he may bless 
Forms yet unseen. 

But oft, with sense of suffering keen, 
He bows to fate most comfortless, 
Bereft of Hope's inconstant sheen. 

Through all such hours of weariness. 
Doth rest put on an iron mien. 

And turn his sad heart to address 
Forms yet unseen. 



64 BO UN DELS. 



IV. 

Forms yet unseen may oft perplex 
A mortal, while imbued with spleen. 

Who to his friends will ne'er annex 
Forms yet unseen. 

He cares not he they foul or clean; 

He asks not what their form or sex; 
Or if they line with king or queen. 

But, day and night, how doth he vex 
His bitter soul, to contravene 

The dark conclave, as Time unchecks 
Forms yet unseen. 



ROUNDELS. 65 



IN MORNING BRIGHT. 

(The Roman and Italic rhymes may be alternated at pleasure.) 
In morning bright, when day-beams rush — fly 
Through fairy Twilight's daintiest blush;— sky; 
When for the rose-beds breezes Ivst, — go, 
Ere dancing forth, with smoke and dust, — blow. 
O'er carpets soft of grassy plusJi; — ply; 

When streets no longer run with slush; — dye; 

When man can breathe as creatures m^s^/ — do; 
When shoes no more we need to brusli — tie 
In morning bright; — 

Then do my thoughts like fountains gusJi— hie 
Up from the world's continued 7m«7i,— sigh, 
And with unceasing, earnest trust, — glow, 
All murmurs to oblivion thrust, — throw, 
To hnil the joy no sorrows crush — try 
In morning bright. 



ROUNDELS. 



WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 

What might have been? Ah! who the truth can tell? 

Had half the world been made of tin, 
Perhaps the sage could tell us just as well 
What might have been. 

Sly counterfeiters still might stamp and grin. 

Might dicker with some money swell, 
Nor deign to call their meanest acts a sin, 

But boast of skill the trashiest stuff to sell. 
If by it self could selfish pleasures win. 
Though woe and want submerge in deepest hell 
What might have been. 



ROUNDELS. 67 



SINGING. 

Singing sougs in strains sublime, 

Songs of some immortal's bringing, 
Is my heart — in measured time 
Smging. 

From some blissful region springing, 

Down the stairs which I would climb, 
Cometh music softly ringing. 

Voices? Hark! I hear them chime ! 

Muses now are sweet strains flinging. 
Strains I only hear while /'m 
Singing. 



68 ROUNDELS. 



MY PRETTY LIN. 

My pretty Lin! thine eyes I see, 
So brimming full of mirth and glee, 
Are peering through the curtains thin. 
Where morning beams the day begin 
By kissing thee for them and me. 

The rose may blossom on the lee ; 

Its blush may seem thy nearest kin ; 
But blushing fairer sure must be 
My pretty Lin. 

Then, near thy window, 'neath that tree. 
Where giant branches wave for thee, 
Where all night long the dews have been. 
My time I'll pass, till morn within 
Its blush shall send, from night to free 
My pretty Lin ! 



ROUNDELS. 



WHEN FALLS THE DEW. 

When falls the dew at evening tide 
On shadowy forms said to reside 
In garden, bow'r, or avenue, 
Or laugh mid leaves that bend askew. 
As pearly droplets earthward glide, 

T, from my labor, turn aside, 
And in seclusion interview 
Those forms that in the darkness hide 
When falls the dew. 

But, lone and restless, I abide, 
A stranger with a stranger guide. 
Dreaming of times when hither flew 
A form beloved, unchanging, true. 
For now no more doth come my bride 
When falls the dew. 



70 ROUNDELS. 



THOSE LOVELY DAYS. 

Those lovely" days of long- ago — 
Though childhood saw them moving slow 
Down in the Past's forgetful haze — 
Have not yet ceased their pleasing lays 
Upon my time-dimmed ear to throw. 

When darkness pales the noon-tide glow. 
Some fairy wing my thought conveys, 
In backward flight, once more to know 
Those lovely days. 

Brighter than brightest pictured show, 
Those scenes, like sea-tides, ebb and flow. 

And as of old my spirit plays 

Once more in childhood's dawning rays, 
I ne'er forget how much I owe 
Those lovely days. 



ROUNDELS. 71 



THOSE LITTLE FEET. 

Those little feet that all day long 
Keep rythmic step to childhood's song, 
Through winter's cold or summer's heat, 
On nursery floor or on the street. 
Seem ever playful, swift, and strong. 

Although they romp where moves the throng, 

With innocence and joy replete, 
No hand shall bind with slaving thong 
Those little feet. 

Yes, let them play with sounding gong; 

Be pleased with merry bells' ding-dong; 
For when night comes with sleep so sweet, 
And round them folds the snow-white sheet, 

Then, who would charge with deeds of wrong 
Those little feet? 



72 ROUNDELS. 



MY DARLING BOY. 

My darling boy, thou dost not know 
How dark the stream of life may grow. 
Nor dost thou dream of the alloy 
That oft will mar thy highest joy, 
While on its bosom floating so. 

Though floating seemingly so slow, 

Mid pleasant scenes so rare and coy. 
Yet, ah! beware how thou dost go, 
My darling boy. 

If storms of evil round the blow, 
Deep down in Truth thine anchor throw; 
For when, erelong, thy childish toy 
Aside shall go for man's employ. 
Peace, like a sea, shall overflow 
My darling boy. 



ROUNDELS. 73 



HARRIET JANE. 

Harriet Jane not long since came, 

A little while on earth to reign. 
A household angel seemed that same 
Harriet Jane. 

As morning light doth brightness gain, 

So, in her life, doth Beauty's flame 
Still brighter burn as passions wane. 

Though many wear the blush of shame; 

Are filled Avith sin and actions vain; 
Yet not a voice can ever blame 
Harriet Jane. 



74 ROUNDELS. 



EYES. 

I. 

Those charming ej^es are bright and ever fair. 

Possessed by one I so much prize; 
Nor could but angel for her jewels wear 
Those charming eyes. 

Two twinkling stars ne'er graced the azure skies. 

Or blinked through clouds in midnight air, 
That e'er could vie with those I idolize. 

Nor would my heart, from that bewitching pair, 

P*rotection or escape devise, 
For long with Cupid have I tried to snare 
Those charming eyes. 



ROUNDELS. 75 



11. 

Glow the stars with heavenly light; 

Long I've seen them doing so; 
So the eyes of maidens, bright, 
Glow. 

Varying rays may come and go. 
Bright in daylight, or at night 
Mellow as a star can show. 

Stars are pearly, red or white; 

Eyes as varied. Justly, though, 
Hazel, black and blue, by right, 
Glow. 



76 ROUNDELS. 



WHEN I AM GONE. 

When I am gone the busy throng- 

Of people, will be moving on; 
Nor will in Nature aught go wrong 
When I am gone. 

The love for conquests to be won; 

The road to fame that seems so long; 
The gaudy show that marks the ton; 

The jocund laugh and merry song; 

The pride of dress so many don, — 
Will then, as now, be just as strong 
When I am gone. 



ROUNDELS. 77 



THE COAT I USED TO WEAR. 

The coat I used to wear with so much pride, 

Now hanging stretched upon the rocking-chair, 
Shows what rough scenes so long have sorely tried 
The coat I used to wear. 

It looks so "seedy" now, with rip and tear, 

With elbows out and pockets gone beside, — 
It must have had most miserable care. 

It can't be sewed, nor can its threads be dyed. 
Nor can I well its goodly friendship spare. 
Yet soon the dirty rag-man's bag must hide 
The coat I used to wear. 



78 ROUNDELS. 



FAITH. 

To climb the hill is what we all must do, 
Where no safe path can lead us round or through 
Obstructions which surpass our human skill 
To separate, (like good from seeming ill,) 
Alike besetting Grentile and the Jew. 

Indeed, the danger may seem bold and new 

That rises in our path, uprising still; 

Yet, through it all, a way we try to hew 

To climb the hill. 

These hills of toil hedge in life's avenue, 
Obstruct man's path with fears that may be true. 
Weigh down his heart with sin's terrific chill 
Inclined to yield to no herculean will, 
Yet Faith oft lends an unexpected clue 
To climb the hill. 



ROUNDELS. 79 



FLIES. 

How flies will swarm when summer heat oppresses 

The poor sick man as on his bed he lies, 
Tho" oft the guard with "pooh" and "shoo" addresses 
The flies. 

They buzz and sing, but find — with myriad eyes— 
The tenderest spots the human frame possesses. 
And, toothless, bite without regard to size. 

With whisks and brooms and blushing maidens' tresses 

They seem to play; nor need we feel surprise, 
For no distress of ours, it seems, distresses 
The flies. 



80 ROUNDELS, 



SHE SLEEPS. 

She sleeps! Her beauty still is there! 

How through the window softly creeps. 
Unseen, the breeze flower-scented, where 
She sleeps! 

The hand of Death so often reaps 

Such flowers we know not how to spare. 
That now my heart unconscious weeps. 

But see ! those lips life's blossoms wear ! 

Up to those cheeks youth's blood still leaps! 
Ah, yes! she breathes that fragrant air — 
She sleeps! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



MADRIGAL. 

TO ELLEN. 

The chilling winds may blow; 
The winters come and summers go; 
The earth put on her robe of snow ; 
The summer birds neglect to sing; 
The ground forget 'twas ever Spring, 
And chiller winds still blow: 

But, in thy love, I know, 
No winters come, no summers go; 
Upon it falls no robe of snow; 
Unceasingly the song-birds sing; 
Within my heart is endless Spring, 
For thou art true, I know! 



84 MISCELLANEOUS. 



MADRIGAL. 

My pretty maid, thy love they say, 
Though beaming forth so constant now. 

Is like the changing shades that play 
So fitful round thy sunny brow. 

Shall it be so— as they have said? 

Ah ! shades may play as they have played, 
May come and go, be dark with dread, 

But changeless is my pretty maid. 

I do not care what they may say, 
E'en calling thee inconstant now, 

For, like the shades tliat round thee play, 
They cannot harm thy sunny brow. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 85 



MADRIGAL. 

Brighter than the stars that shine, 
Brighter than the morning sun, 

Shines thine eye, as seen by mine, 
With its beauty to be won; 

And not like a sun that sets, 

Stars that fade when shines the sun. 
Vanished from a heart that frets. 

From a heart by woe undone, 

For what light would ever shine. 
Did thine eye, a constant sun. 

Beam upon this heart of mine. 
With thy love forever won. 



86 MISCELLANEOUS. 



MADRIGAL 

She sat in the wide-open window, 

A maiden bewitchingly fair, 
Where the whispering breezes of summer 

Were frolicking with her dark hair; 
Where the gathering shadows of evening. 

Half hiding her beauties from sight. 
Still left her bright eyes ever seeming 

The gems of the bright starry night. 

Still lingered she at the window; 

Still gazed she out into the night; 
Still gazed she — and all the while dreaming 

Of the dear one she dreamed was in sight: 
Still gathered the shadows of evening; 

Still tossed in the breezes her hair, 
Till other than breezes of summer 

Was whispering the maiden so fair. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 87 



EPIGRAM 

John: — Now, my dear, pray stand up straight! 

Don't bend as if your bacli were weak ! 
You couldn't pass through a churchyard gate, 

Though angel -like and heavenly meek. 

Dear: — John, now why insult your wife 
For dressing as is now the fashion, 

When Lady Russell, dressed to life. 
Sets your proud heart all in a passion? 

John : — Then, my dear, if dressed to life 
Is being dressed like Lady Russ'll, 

By all means let my pretty wife 
Another foot add to her bustle ! 



MISCELLANEO US. 



EPIGRAM. 

PROM THE SPANISH BY D. MANUEL DE SEQUEIRA 
Y ARANGO. 

CoMO suele en viva llama 

Pronto arder la Mariposa; 

Asi la vista curiosa 
Se qiiema en un epigrama: 
Y si es el estilo terso, 

Claro y lleno de alusiones, 

I\ieden bieu cuatro renglones 
Incendiar el Uni verso. 

Just as is wont in vivid flame 
Quickly to hum the butterfly. 
So like it doth the curious eye 

Itself burn in an epigram : 

And if it be in fashion terse, 

Be clear and full of sharp designs. 
It only needs four simple lines 

To set on tire the universe. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 89 



LA RENONCULE ET L'CEILLET. 

FROM THE FRENCH BY BERANGER. 

La renoncule, un jour, dans un bosquet, 

Avec Foeillet se trouva reunie: 
Elle eut le lendemain le parfum de I'oeillet . . . 

On ne pent que gagner en bonne compagnie. 

( Trandation. ) 

THE RANUNCULUS AND PINK. 

The ranunculus once, as in thicket it lay, 
Of the pink was found a companion to be; 

She had the perfume of the pink the next day- 
So we only gain when in good company. 



90 MISCELLANEOUS, 



AMOR E DA PER TUTTO. 

FROM THE ITALIAN BY PETRARCH. 

Solo e pensoso i piu deserti campi 
Vo misurando a passi tardi e lenti, 
E gli occhi porto per fuggire inteuti, 

Dove vestigio uman 1' arena stampi. 

Altro schermo non trovo, clie mi scampi 
Dal manifesto accorger de le genti : 
Perche ne gli atti d' allegrezza spenti, 

Di fuor si legge, com' io dentro avvampl. 

Si ch'io credo omai, clie monti e piagge, 
E fiumi e selve sappian di che tempre 
Sia la mia vita, ch' e celata altrui. 

Ma pur si aspre vie, ne si selvagge 

Cercar non so,<che amor non venga sempre, 
Ragionando con meco, ed io con lui. 



MISCELLA NEO US. 01 



LOVE IS EVERYWHERE. 

{Tj'cmslation.) 

Alone and thoughtful, fields in wildness growing, 
With slow and measured steps I'm sadly treading, 
And tarn my eyes from scenes around me spreading 

Where human footsteps tell-tale sands are showing. 

No other way I find — my sadness knowing — 
To shun the public gaze my heart is dreading, 
Or feel tlie warmth once cheerfulness was shedding 

Within my soul from embers faintly glowing. 

Full well I understand how groves and rivers, 
How plains and mountains, know that I am hiding 
From others' sight scenes sad to me and trying; 

Yet, though in these rough paths my being shivers, 
There's no escape, for here is Love abiding- 
He whisp'ring me and I to him replying. 



92 MISCELLANEOUS, 



BELLEZZA DI LAURA. 

FROM THE ITALIAN BY PETRARCH. 

In qual parte del Ciel, in quale idea, 

Era r esempio. onde natura tolse, 

Quel bel viso leggiadro, in che ella volse, 
Monstrar quag^iil, quanto lassu potea? 
Qual ninfa in fonti. in selve mai qual Dea, 

Cliibme d'oro si fino all' aura sciolse? 

Quando un cor tante in se virtuti accolse' 
Benche la somma e di mia morte rea. 
Per divina bellezza indarno mira, 

Chi gli occhi di costei giammai non vide 
Come soavemente ella gli gira, 

Non sa come amor sana e come ancide 
Chi non sa come dolce ella sospira, 

E come dolce parla, e dolce ride, 



MISCELLA NEO US. 



LAURA'S BEAUTY. 

{Translation.) 
In what part heaven, in what idea inlying, 

Was pattern found which Nature took when bringing 

That fair face forth with radiant beauties springing, 
And thus on earth her heavenly skill applying? 
What fountain nymph or forest goddess shying. 

Such golden tresses to the breeze is flinging? 

What heart has round it such rare virtues clinging? 
Though for the chiefest I am sadly dying. 
Vain doth he look, for heavenly beauty seeking. 

Who ne'er hath seen her radiant eyes abounding 
In love-lit glances for some fond heart's piquing. 

Nor doth he know Love's healing or his wounding 
Who ne'er hath listened to her sweet sighs speaking 

In words most charming from her sweet lips sounding. 



94 MISCELLANEOUS. 



BEAUTE. 

FROM THE FRENCH BY MME. ANAIS SEGALAS. 

Quoi! tou jours t'admirer dans ta glace fldcle! 
Tout objet gracieux a du charme a se voir: 
La fleur aime le lac at I'enfant le miroir, 

Dans le fleuve en passant se mire I'hirondelle. 

Pourtant, songes-y bien, la femme la plus belle 
N'est rien qu'un ver luisant: par un divin pouvoir. 
La beaute rillumine, et luit dans son wW noir: 

Le ver devient etoile avec une etincelle ! 

Oh! ne prends pas d'orgueil de ce petit brillant. 
Que le ciel sur ta t^e a mis en souriant. 

Les femmes n'ont qu'un jour; Dieu renverse leur trones. 
Ma coquette au berceau, tes graces s'en iront; 

Car la beaute ressemble k toutes les couronnes; 
Un soufHe en I'effleurant la fait tomber du front. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 95 



BEAUTY. 

( Trandation. ) 
What! always gazing in thy faithful glass? 

All graceful forms are charmed themselves to see; 

Flowers love the lake; children to mirrors flee, 
And swallows gaze as they bright ripplets pass. 
Though fondly dreaming thus, the fairest lass 

Is but a glow-worm: yet may Deity 

Her beauty give, and bright her dark eye be, 
And thus the worm with brightest star-beams class. 

Oh ! be not proud of such a dainty gem 

A smiling Heaven puts in thy diadem:— 
Woman has but a day, and God has frowns. 

My young coquette, soon will thy graces fly, 
For beauty doth resemble earthly crowns : — 

One breath may blast it that it fall and die. 



96 MISCELLANEOUS, 



EPIGRAM. 

FROM THE PORTUGUESE BY MANOEL MARIA. 

A MoRTE era huma idiota 

Antes de aforismos ter, 
Mas depois que ha Medicina, 

Ja sabe ler, e escrever. 



{Translation.) 

Death always had an idiot been, 
Ere aphorisms were brought to light. 

But since her deal in Medicine, 

She now knows how to read and write. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 97 



EPIGRAM. 

FROM THE PORTUGUESE BY MANOBL MARIA, 

Hum liomem rico, outre pobre 

Grave molestia prostrou. 
Qual delles morreo? O rico, 

Que mais remedios tomou, 

{Translation.) 

One man was rich, the other poor, 
Both grave disease had followed. 

Which of them died? The rich one who 
Most remedies had swallowed. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



ADIEUX A UN RUIS8EAU. 

FROM THE FRENCH BY COMTE ANATOLE DE 
MONTESQUIOU. 

Charm ANT ruisseau, vous fuyez cet ombrage 

Et ce vallon protege par les cieux, 

Comme si Ton pouvait ^tre, ailleurs plus heureux. 
Vous avez tort de quitter ce bocage 

Et ces bords paisibles et purs. 
Imprudent, vous courez aux cites d'ou j 'arrive! 

Ah! pendant vos succes futurs, 
Vous regretterez cette rive 

Et vos rochers deserts et vos antres obscurs. 
Sans retour, onde fugitive, 

On vous voit renoncer h des charmes si doux ! 

Je ne ferai pas comme vous. 



MISCELLANEO US. 



FAREWELL TO A BROOK. 

(Translation.) 

O CHARMING brook, you now forsake this shade, 

This valley sheltered by the heavens of blue, 

As if elsewhere were happiness more true. 
You err in leaving thus this woody glade, 

And this fair land so peaceful and so pure. 
Ingrate! you cities seek whence I have come! 

Ah ! in the future, with success unsure. 
You will regret this loss of home. 

Your desert rocks and caves obscure. 
With no return, a fugitive to roam, 

I see you now renounce this charming view! 

But I will never do like you. 



100 MISCELLANEOUS. 



EPIGRAM. 

FROM THE PORTUGUESE BY MANOEL MARIA. 

HoMEM de genio impaciente, 

Tendo huma dor infernal, 
Pedia para matar-se 

Hum veneno, on hum punlial. 

,, Nao ha (Ihe disse hum visinho, 

Velho, que pensava bem) 
Nao ha punhal, nem veneno; 

Mas o Medico ahi vem. 

{Translation.) 
A MAN of an impatient mind, 

Distressed by an infernal pain, 
Who now his life to end designed. 

Would poison or a poniard gain. 

" I have none," to him said a friend. 
An aged man, (they had been chums,) 

"No poniard can nor poison lend — 
But there the Doctor comes!" 



MISCELLANEOUS. 101 



EPIGRAMS. 

THE BOOK CRITIC. 

A SELF-STYLED judge of Others deeds, 
Of books his heedless neighbor reads, 

At work for modicum of pelf. 
Who, while he praises and condemns. 
Calls worthless these and those as gems, 

The same has seldom read himself. 



THE POET. 

How many a man boasts of his birth 

As of a famous poet. 
Who finds at last 'tis little worth 

To be one and not know it. 



102 MISCELLANEOUS. 



EPIGRAMS. 

PHILOSOPHERS. 

Bold speculators in the stocks they borrow, 
Whose theories of to-day are overturned to-morrow. 



MY HEART. 

My heart — an earth-bound mystery — 
Is, like a watch worth many a crown, 

A valued thing if kept wound up, 

But far more worthless when run down. 



METAPHYSICS. 

A SPANLESS sea whose surface storm-winds sweep. 

Without a sheltering island in it, 
And those who launch upon its dangerous deep. 

Will often founder in a minute. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 103 



EPIGRAM. 

FROM THE PORTUGUESE BY MANGEL MARIA, 

A QUI jaz hum homem rico 

Nesta rica sepulture: 
Escapava da molestia, 

Se nao morresse da cura. 

{Translation.) 

Here a ricli man lies 
In this rich sepulture: 
* He escaped from the disease, 
Else had died of the cure. 



104 MISCELLANEOUS. 



EPIGRAM. 

^ROM THE PORTUGUESE BY MANOEL MARIA. 

A MoRTE foi sensual 

Quando ainda era menina: 

Co' Peccado original 

Teve copula carnal, 
E pario a Medicine. 

{Translation.) 

Death has been sensual, 

From early youth has been; 
For she with Sin original 
Has had connection carnal, 
And brought forth Medicine. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 105 



L' AMOUR MATERNEL. 

FROM THE FRENCH BY MILLEVOYE. 

De la bonte celeste un rayon eternel 

Semble se reflechir dans le coeur maternal; 

Et la Divinite, nous offrant son image, 

Sous les traits d'une m^re appelle notre hommage. 

{Translation.) 
maternal love. 
Of goodness celestial a ray eternal 
Seems reflected in the heart maternal; 
And Deity, offering to us his image, 
In the guise of a mother is asking our homage. 



106 MISCELLANEOUS. 



MADRIGAL. 

FROM THE PORTUGUESE EY MANOEL MARIA. 

Zefyros, que brincais co' as tran^as bellas 

Da minha doce Analia, 
Voai as Acres da vi^osa Idalia, 
Bern que na gra9a, e cor sao menos que ellas. 
Nao lie por vos, Favonios, que a frescura 

Trazeis ao niveo scio, 
E a face melindrosa, em que deliro: 

He so porque receio 
Que de astuto Rival, de audaz ternura 
Comvosco se dlsfarce algum susplro. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 107 



MADRIGAL. 

{Translation.) 
Zephyrus, playing with the tresses fair 

Of my own sweet Analia, 
Go seek the flowers of ever-green Idalia, 
Although they less of grace and beauty wear. 
Not you, Favonius, who thy blushing dress 

Dost to the snowy bosom bring, 
And to the lovely face, for my delight: 

It is because my fears upspring 
That some shrewd Rival, with false tenderness 
With you may bear my loved one from my sight. 



108 MISCELLANEOUS. 



EPITHALAMIUM. 

Unite we now two hearts in one! 
One heart that's never two 
Will ne'er undo 
What has been here so wisely done. 
But since a race has just begun, 
And Love, with signal hand, 
Gives the command, 
Go on, glad pair, a happy one; 
And since no longer two. 
Be ever true 
As now ye start through life to run. 
Yea, one the whole way through. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 109 



MAN'S RESTLESS SPIRIT. 

When I look out on Nature, wonder fills 
My thought that all harmoniously should move, 
Save where the human passions interpose, 
And that where they control such discord reigns. 

The heavenly hosts, unjarred by din of wars. 
Move undeflected in their paths; the earth 
Revolves unchanged from age to age, and winds 
And storms and earthquakes move, but change 
her not. 

Not so where man holds rule. His constant strife 
Is for supremacy, that man with man 
Be not an equal, though subdued by war. 

Contentions rage unchecked the long scale down 
From nation e'en to man's own heart, and he. 
Unlike his mother Nature, tears for rest. 



110 MISCELLANEOUS. 



ROUNDEL, NO. 1. 

These flowers will fade which, in the light 
Of heaven's warm sun, now look so bright. 
And toiling bees will seek in vain 
To find the sweets they now contain, 
When Summer passes unbedight. 

The chilly wind and frosty night 
Will such frail beauty put to flight, 
And ere shall fall the sleety rain 
These flowers will fade. 

Oh, how my heart is filled with pain, 
To think how soon will come again 

That mournful season which will blight 
These fragrant flowers that please my sight. 
For though the roots alive remain, 
These flowers will fade. 



MISCELLANEOUS. Ill 



ROUNDEL, NO. 2. 

These flowers will fade which, in the light 
Of heaven's warm sun, now look so bright, 
And toiling bees will seek, unpaid, 
The sweets now in these blossoms laid, 
When Summer passes unbedight. 

The chilly wind and frosty night 

Will such frail beauty soon invade, 
And ere they vent their fullest spite. 
These flowers will fade. 

Oh, how my heart starts with affright, 
To think how soon, with deadly blight, 
That mournful season undelayed. 
Against these flowers will be arrayed, 
For though the roots live hid from sight, 
These flowers will fade. 



112 MISCELLANEOUS. 



RONDO. 

In that remembered, pleasant day. 
When we for love each other wed, 
How many pleasant things were said. 

Though fast those pleasures passed away. 
What visions fair before us sped, 

Which we pursued with feet so gay, 

In that remembered, pleasant day. 
When we for love each other wed. 

Although those dreams have long since fled, 
And much we saw gone to decay — 
For we as then no longer play — 

Yet still we hear young Cupid's tread 
In that remembered, pleasant day, 

When we for love each other wed. 



AN ESSAY. 



AN ESSAY ON THE SONNET, ROUNDEL 
AND MADRIGAL. 



The writing of sonnets has, of late years, become a 
much more popular occupation with poets than it was 
in earlier days, particularly in America. But very few 
of our early poets attempted this kind of writing, either 
from dislike for it, or for want of a better knowledge 
of the laws governing its construction. It has, how- 
ever, become Americanized to a very great extent dur- 
ing the last fifteen or twenty years, and now maga- 
zines, newspapers and books are becoming deeply 
interested in them. 

Whatever may be thought of the sonnet by the 
masses of the people, it is very evident that a large 
portion of the public mind is receiving it more and 
more into favor, and, no doubt, time will make it still 
more popular to all classes when both the people and 
the sonnet shall have been more thoroughly cultivated. 
The American citizen is generally too busy to be long 
enough at leisure to read through long tedious works 
of either prose or poetry, and only those which are 



IIG AN ESSAY. 

sufficiently divided up into sections that they can be 
read and digested during the few moments his busy 
life can spare will claim his attention. Long poems, 
particularly, will generally lack for readers unless they 
are of more than ordinary merit and are the work f)f 
some one of acknowledged high standing. 

The sonnet is a short poem well adapted to the ex- 
pression of an idea, thought or feeling, can be easily 
read and remembered, and would seem to just suit the 
restless Yankee mind. It is also well adapted for tlie 
same Yankee to use in trapping his random thought as 
it flashes through his mind. It does not subject him 
to the unpleasantness of spending the weeks, months, 
and perhaps years of patient, careful study reiuired 
to prepare a well-matured long poem. Such being the 
case, a few remarks concerning these shorter species 
of poetry may not be uninteresting. 

It is now generally conceded that the sonnet had its 
origin in Italy. Petrarch, Dante, Tasso, Alfieri, Monti, 
Marini and other Italian poets have carried it to a high 
state of perfection and beauty in the Italian language, 
and it has been transplanted into most of the other 
European languages. 

As it is of Italian origin, it has been contended by 
some that the principles governing it in that language 



A^ ESSAY. 117 

should also govern it in every other language. But it 
must be remembered that all languages will not bear 
the same construction in every point, for each indi- 
vidual language has its own peculiarities which cannot 
be easily represented in others. Those who so per- 
sistently declare that the English sonnet should be a 
fac-simile of the Italian, should remember that our 
English language, for one instance, is not so abounding 
in words terminating in unaccented syllables whereby 
double sounding rhymes may be formed, as is the 
Italian. In this particular, almost universally, the 
English sonnet necessarily differs from the Italian, 
though in languages like the Spanish and Portuguese 
there is no difficulty in adopting this rule. I have 
thus far failed to find a single instance of an English 
sonnet that follows this Italian law, though I have 
tried my hand at it as may be seen by referring, in this 
volume, to pages 41, 42, 43, 44, 91 and 93. It would 
l)e a pleasant thing to know what a poet possessed of 
the accomplishments and talents of Longfellow could 
have done in this line. However, I believe it will not be 
long before some of our poets will make the attempt, 
for I believe this style of rhyme may be made, to a 
small extent, productive of very pleasing effects, even 
in the English language. 



118 AN ESSAY. 

What is called the Lei^itimate Sonuet must consist 
of fourteen iambic lines, and, according to the Italian 
custom, of eleven syllables each, though the English 
poets have adopted but ten. The first grand division 
embraces the first eight lines, and the second grand 
division the six remaining lines. These divisions are 
called respectively the Oet<im and the Sestette. The 
octave is divided into two sets of four lines each, called 
Quartrains, and the sestette into two sets, called Ter- 
zettes. Turning now to pages 90 and 9] , it will be seen 
that Petrarch, in the quartrain, makes lines 1, 4, 5, and 
8 with one rhyme, and lines 2, 3, 6 and 7 with a second 
rhyme. This is the fixed Italian law for this part of 
the sonnet. In the sestette there are three rhyme 
words, and lines 9, 10 and 11 rhyme respectively with 
lines 12, 13 and 14. By turning to pages 92 and 93 it 
will be seen that in the sestette of this sonnet there are 
but two rhyme words, and that the lines rhyme altern- 
ately. But in the English sonnet we find almost every 
variety of rhyme that can be rung out of so few lines, 
not even excepting the octave, though the best writers 
confine themselves more closely to the Italian school. 
The Italian style is, perhaps, as capable of producing 
pleasing effects as any other; but sometimes a random 
style may better suit the poet who is unable to manage 



.4iV ESSAY. 119 

his construction according to fixed laws. It is very 
apparent, however, that the farther apart the rhyme 
words are thrown the less effective beauty the sonnet 
has, for there is much that is pleasing in good rhyme. 

Again, in turning to our specimens from Petrarch's 
sonnets it will be observed that he makes prominent 
pauses after the fourth, eighth and eleventh lines, ac- 
cording to the smaller divisions of the sonnet. This 
may not be considered as an absolute necessity, but it 
is readily seen how much prettier is the flow of senti- 
ment, and how much easier to read are those sonnets 
which conform to this principle; especially will we 
be convinced of this fact if we compare one of this 
class with one that worries through the whole sonnet, 
from beginning to end, without a break. 

These are only a few of the features of the sonnet. 
There are others looking to its history, its growth in 
our own land, and what it may yet become, which we 
cannot refer to here. But as Mr. Leigh Hunt, in his 
Book of the Sonnet, has condensed so much into so 
small compass in his directions to sonnet writers, I 
feel I can do no better than to present his remarks in 
this connection. He says: 

The sonnet, then, in order to be a perfect work of 
art, and no compromise with a difficulty, must in the 



120 AN ESSA Y. 

first place be a Legitimate Sonnet after the proper 
Italian fashion; that is to say, with but two rhymes to 
the octave, and not more than three in the sestette. 

Secondly, it must confine itself to one leading idea, 
thought, or feeling. 

Thidly, it must treat this one leading idea, thought, 
or feeling in such a manner as to leave in the reader's 
mind no sense of irrelevancy or insutficiency. 

Fourthly, it must not have a speck of obscurity. 

Fifthly, it must not have a forced rhyme. 

Sixthly, it must not have a superfluous word. 

Seventhly, it must not have a word too little; that is 
to say, an omission of a word or words, for the sake of 
convenience. 

Eighthly, it must not have a word out of its place. 

Ninthly, it must have no very long word, or any 
other that tends to lessen the number of accents, and 
so weaken the verse. 

Tenthly, its rhymes must be properly varied and 
contrasted, and not beat upon the same vowel,— a fault 
too common with very good sonnets. It must not say, 
for instance, rhyme, tide, abide, crime ; or 'pUiy, gain, 
refrain, way ; but contrast i with o, or with some other 
strongly opposed vowel, and treat every vowel on the 
same principle. 

Eleventhly, its music, throughout, must be as varied 
as it is suitable; more or less strong, or sweet, accord- 
to the subject; but never weak or monotonous, unless 
monotony itself be the eifect intended. 



ylJV ESSAY. 121 

Twelfthly, it must increase, or, at all events, not de- 
cline, in interest, to its close. 

Lastly, the close must be equally impressive and un- 
affected; not epigrammatic, unless where the subject 
warrants it, or where point of that kind is desirable; 
but simple, conclusive, and satisfactory; strength being 
paramount, where such elevation is natural, otherwise 
on a level with the serenity; flowing in calmness, or 
grand in the manifestation of power withheld. 

These rules of Mr. Hunt are as condensed as could 
be made, and those wishing to know what is before 
them when they undertake to write a sonnet, have here 
a gauge by Mdiich they can readily measure their ca- 
pacity. 

Many very good sonnets are written in alternate 
rhymes, in which case the last two lines necessarily 
form a couplet. Frequently we find the first four lines 
in the sestette rhyming alternately and the remaining 
two forming a couplet. Some writers make an Alex- 
andrine line of the last and give it twelve syllables 
after the manner of the Spenserian stanzfi. Some of 
the earlier English poets like Spenser, Shakespeare 
and others, did not follow the Italian rule, but suited 
their own fancy as to style, which probably will be the 
way with the independent American poet— each one 
rhyming according to his or her own taste. 



123 AN ESS A Y. 

Sometimes we find lines arranged according to the 
laws of the .'(onnet without rhyme, and not wholly de- 
void of pleasing effect. If the quatrains and terzettes 
are destinctively marked, such poems maybe read 
with nearly as good effect as true sonnets, for often in 
the sonnet the succession of rhyme-words is not so 
marked as in some other kinds of poetry. 

The sonnet is a school for those poets addicted to 
writing lengthy poems. It is a good thing sometimes 
to put ones thoughts under restrictions in order to 
break up the tendenc}- to verbosity which, in many 
poets, is often carried to a very unpleasant extent. 

The RouNDBi. has not yet received the attention that 
the sonnet has. The roundel is l>etter adapted to 
themes of a lighter character, and for music, for the 
rythm, the varieties of measure and the refrains give 
it a more social and enlivening effect. There seem to 
be but few unjielding rules to be observed in its con- 
struction, yet to write one that evinces a perfectness In 
itself is not an easy task. But few of our poets have 
tried to write them, so far as 1 have l)een able to dis- 
cover, and the few who have made the attempt seem 
to have had but little idea of any legal form for its 
government. It has a variety of names, such as the 
Italian Rondo, the EVench Rondeau, Rondel. Roundel, 



AN ESSAY. 133 

and Roundelay, all meaning the same thing, though 
often differing in the styles of different writers. It 
evidently has much of the French hilarity about it, 
and is well adapted to that peculiar feature of that 
language, though other languages have adopted it to 
some extent. But as I can only speak of its construc- 
tion and give some directions how to write it, I will 
not attempt a historical description, but ent^r upon my 
task at once. 

The stereotyped delinition of the roundel as given 
in most all works giving it a notice, is that it is "a 
kind of poetry, commonly consisting of thirteen verses, 
of which eight have one rhyme, and five another. It 
is divided into three couplets, and at the end of the 
second and third, the beginning of the roundel is re- 
peated in an equivocal sense if possible." On page 
68 will be found one of this kind. In this we notice 
that the refrain is made to rhyme with the second 
rhyme- word, though perhaps more frequently we find 
them written as on page UO, Roundel No. 1. where 
there is a different arrangement of the rhyme, and the 
refrain is left without a rhyme-word. I think this is 
much leas musical than the other way; for ending a 
rhyming poem with a word that does not rhyme, in 
a production so promising of music as is the roundel. 



124 AN ESSA Y. 

is very abrupt and unsatisfying to the ear. On pag-e 
111, in Roundel No. 2, I have reconstructed Roundel 
No. 1, making the refrain rhyme with the second 
rhyme-word which I consider preferable. 

The form adopted by Mr. Swinburne in his "Cen- 
tury of Roundels," consists of but nine lines, five with 
one rhyme, and four witli another. Instead of adding 
the refrain to the second and third stanzas, as in the 
other form, he adds it to the first and third. Each 
stanza contains three lines, but the rhyming words are 
so arranged that the refrain in the first and last stanzas 
makes an alternate rhyme. This is a very pleasing 
form of the roundel, and in some respects easier to 
write than the longer one as there are fewer rhymes of 
each kind. 

In either of these forms it is not necessary that the 
meter should be wholly iambic, or that the lines should 
contain a definite number of feet, for the writer's fancy 
can have full play and adopt whatever arrangement 
will give the most pleasing effect to his ideas. One 
very important matter to be observed, however, is that 
the refrain line shall make, as nearly as possible, a part 
of the line which it follows, both in sense and gram- 
matical connection, since it should not be considered 
as a line of itself. 



AN ESSAY. 125 

Another form of the roundel may be found on page 
112, in which two full lines are made to act as the re- 
frain. It may often be desirable to vary from this 
form, either in number of lines and syllables, or in the 
arrangement of rhymes. But the very important mat- 
ter of effect and perfectness should never be over- 
looked. Neither should the advice given in the tenth 
rule for the sonnet by Mr. Hunt, on page 120, be for- 
gotten. The roundel on page 73 is a violation of this 
rule, for rai/ic and reiff/i have too close a resemblance 
in the vowel a sound to be pleasing to the ear. 

The Madrigal is more particularly devoted to am- 
orous subjecst, as may be observed in Petrarch and 
others who have made use of it. In regard to its form, 
muc;h that has been said of the roundel will apply to 
the madrigal. The general directions given are that 
it must contain not less than four, nor more than six- 
teen lines; Petrarch contines himself to about eight. 
It is said that some of Tasso's madrigals are the finest 
specimens of poetry in the Italian language. The sub- 
jects ])eing of a delicate and tender nature, if the poem 
be well conceived and tersely expressed, it would very 
naturally have a tendency to captivate the reader's 
attentii )n. The madrigal need not always be expressive 
of disapiwintments and vexations, for the playfulness 



126 AN ESSAY. 

of the passions gives ample scope for some of the finest 
expressions a reader could wish. The length of the 
lines and the rhymes of the madrigal may assume 
almost any form to suit the poet's notion. There is 
no such destinctive characteristic to mark the form of 
the madrigal as is found in the refrain to mark the 
roundel, and what might be called a madrigal may 
often be called by some other name. 

The Sestina is another species of poem which bears 
very destinctive marks of its character, insomuch that 
it is quite unlike anything else. It has no rhyme, but 
contains six stanzas of six lines each, and one of three 
lines. Its peculiarity lies in the use of six words to 
end the six lines of the first stanza, which words are 
to be used to end the remaining stanzas after the fol- 
lowing manner: The last word of the last line of any 
stanza must be the last word of the first line of the suc- 
ceeding stanza. Then the other end-words must be 
used according to the following order: First line, fifth 
line, second line, fourth line, and ending with the 
third line, whicli, in turn, ])ecomes the end-word of 
the first line of the next verse. This is Petrarch's order. 
But in the seventli stanza of three lines the six ending 
words must all be introduced in the same order as in 
the first stanza, commencins; with the first — which was 



AN ESSAY. 127 

the last in the sixth— with the three alternate words 
standing somewhere within the lines, and the remain- 
ing three at the respective ends. I have endeavored in 
the following effort to illustrate the above remarks, 
showing how the end words must be arranged. 

8ESTINA. 

UNKEQUITED LOVE. 

How lonely now life's pathway do I find! 
And how unpleasant to my weary feet, 
Since unrequited is the love my heart 
So long hath poured, in most devoted strains, 
For a fair idol which doth fill my dreams. 
And ne'er is absent from my watchful eye. 

Why doth a sadness so becloud my eye 
That no sweet fields my weariness can find? 
Why should my life be only made of dreams. 
And stony paths so wound my toiling feet? 
Why doth my ear not sometimes fill with strains 
To start vibrations in my downcast heart? 

The weighty griefs of my neglected heart 

Can ne'er escape the vigils of an eye 

That marks the causes for its mournful strains ; 

Yet, carefully, 1 long have sought to find 

Some shadowy place where I might turn my feet, 

And see if life is wholly made of dreams. 



128 AN ESS A Y. 

There is no pleasure in evanisJjed dreams; 
Though, while the drowsy moments steep the heart, 
We seem to run with unfatiguing feet, 
Till from the spell awakes the truthful eye, 
Yet, sadder still becomes the heart to lind 
That it alone must sing its own sad strains. 

Oh, wake once more those dear old cherished strains 
Of tenderest love that gave me such dear dreams! 
Dear heart of hearts! in thee, oh let me find 
Once more that kind regard which my poor heart 
So ardently returned when thy bright eye 
With strongest magic brought me to thy feet! 

There would I rest once more — rest at thy feet! 
Though fills my soul with mem'ries of sweet strains; 
Though all thy beauties still imj^ress my eye. 
Yet, how I long for something not in dreams! 
Oh! let there be a yielding in thy heart, 
That in thy sight I former joys maj'find! 

"Twere sweet to find rest for my weary feet. 
Where o'er my heart once stole love's cheering strains 
In no sad dreams to blind a lover's eye. 

I think that the exercise of a little ingenuity in the 
arrangement of words to rhyme would produce some 
very pleasing features in the sestina. Of course the 
trouble would be that there are so few rhyme- words, 
and the oft recurrence of the same rhyming sound, in 



AN ESSAY. 129 

so long a poem as is the sestina, would be wearying 
unless very skillfully wrought out. 

The Ottava Rima is worthy of mention in this con- 
nection, inasmuch as it is in extensive use in the Italian, 
Spanish and Portuguese languages. Some of their 
most noted poems are written in this kind of verse, 
such as the Gierasalemme Liberata of Tasso, the Mor- 
gante Maggiore of Pulci, the Orlando Innamorato of 
Bojardo, the Orlando Furioso of Ariosto, in Italian; 
the Araucana of Ercilla, in Spanish, and the Lusiados 
of Camoeus, in Portuguese, etc. Byron has also em- 
ployed the same stanza in his Don Juan. It is of 
Italian origin, but has been extensively borrowed by 
other nations. It consists of eight heroic lines, the six 
first having but two rhyme-words which rhyme altern- 
ately, and the last two are a couplet having a different 
rhyme from the other six. The following specimen 
from Byron's translation of Pulci's Morgante Maggiore, 
will be suiRcient for an illustration. It is the invoca- 
tion stanza opening the poem. 

In the beginning was the Word next God ; 

God was the Word, the Word was no less he: 
This was in the beginning, to my mode 

Of thinking, and without him naught could he : 
Therefore, Just Lord ! from out thy high abode, 

Benign and pious, bid an angel flee, 
One only, to be my companion, who 
Shall help my famous, worthy, old song through. 



130 AN ESSAY. 

There are many other forms for writing poetry of 
which it is unnecessary for me to speak at length here. 
The Epigram speaks for itself. The Epithalamium, 
or nuptial song, may be written with as much freedom 
as any other poem, its peculiarity resting in the senti- 
ment. There are Quatrains, the Spenserian stanza, Ter- 
zettes, and many others which can be easily acquired 
by those wishing to write them. 

In closing this essay, I feel that I have embodied in 
these few pages much that is valuable to the majority 
of those who are attempting to write poetry, and which 
can be found nowhere else in so compact a form. I 
have thrown in many ideas of my own which expe- 
rience has showed me to be worthy of note. It is 
evident that remarks so briefly made as these have 
been, cannot reach much that many might desire to 
see; but I feel that any one who will carefully study 
what has been said, will find all that is necessary to 
help to a sufficient understanding of the various kinds 
of poetry described, to write them if only possessed of 
the poetic gift. 



CONTENTS, 




"Kwa 


Page. 


A Sunset in the Forest, 


7 


The Song of Spring, 


. 8 


Man, .... 


9 


Fidie, . . . . 


. 10 


My Fifty-fifth Birthday, . 


12 


An Earthquake, 


. 13 


Silence, . . • . 


14 


Liberty. 


. 16 


Sleep, .... 


17 


A Thunderstorm, 


. 22 


Evening Twilight, . 


24 


Valor 


. 25 


Nature, .... 


26 


Indian Summer, 


. 27 


Honor, .... 


28 


The Wayside Spring, . 


. 29 


Morning, .... 


30 


Friendship, 


. 32 


The Star of Bethlehem, 


38 


The Song that was Sung, 


. 34 



132 CONTENTS. 




Sonnets, Continued. 




The Heavenly guide, 


35 


The Infant Saviour Found, 


. 36 


The King Triumphant, 


37 


Death 


. 38 


The Ocean Shore, . 


39 


To The Eagle, . 


. 40 


Spring, .... 


41 


Summer. 


. 42 


Autumn, .... 


43 


Winter, .... 


. 44 


A Snow Storm, 


45 


H. W. Longfellow, 


. 46 


Milton, .... 


47 


Speculative Philosophy, 


. 48 


On the Death of J. G. Saxe, 


53 


William Cullen Bryant, 


. 54 


Contentment, 


55 


Dr. J. L. Brotherton, . 


. 56 


Roundels. 




A Friend, . 


59 


The Welcome Rain, . . 


. 60 


Forms Yet Unseen, 


61 


In Morning Bright, 


. 65 


What Might Have Been, . 


66 


Singing, 


. 67 


My Pretty Lin, 


68 


When Falls the Dew, . 


. 69 


Those Lovely Days, 


70 



CONTENTS. 133 



71 
72 
73 
74 
76 
77 
78 
79 



Roundels, Continued. 
Those Little Feet, . 
My Darling Boy, 
Harriet Jane, 

Eyes, . . . . • 

When I am Gone, . 
The Coat I used to Wear, 
Faith, . . • • 

Flies, . . . • • 

8he Sleeps, . . • • 

MiSCEIiLANEOUS. 

Madrigals, I To Ellen) - . . 83 

(My Pretty Maid) . . -84 

, Brighter than the stars that shine) 85 

(She sat in the wide-open window) 86 

(Portuguese) . 106 

The Ranunculus and the Pink, . 89 

Amor e da per Tulto ... 90 

Love is Everywhere, . . • .91 

Bellezza di Laura, .... 92 

Laura's Beauty, • .93 

Beaute, . . • • • ^4 

Beauty, . . • ^^ 

Epigrams, (Spanish) ... 88 

(Portuguese) 96, 97, 100, 103, 104 

(English) . 87,101,102 

Adieux a un Ruisseau, . -98 

Farewell to a Brook, ... 99 

Maternal Tiove, . . • • 105 



134 CONTENTS. 

Miscellaneous, Continued. 

Epithalamium, ..... 108 
Man's Restless Spirit, . . 109 

Rouiidels, Nos. 1 aud 2. . . 110, 111 

Rondo, ..... 112 

An Essay, . . . . .115 

Sestina. ..... 127 



THE END. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRKS 

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